


Portrait of a Renegade - The Pale Horse

by Bomber_Harris



Series: A Candle's Fire [1]
Category: Kino no Tabi | Kino's Journey - All Media Types
Genre: Ethics, Gen, Gun Violence, International Fanworks Day 2021, Nonbinary Character, Political Philosophy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 07:35:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29414976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bomber_Harris/pseuds/Bomber_Harris
Summary: “Where there is singing, you can always settle down – because evil men don’t have songs”Kino and Hermes encounter a man with a strange past and an even stranger set of beliefs.
Series: A Candle's Fire [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2163486
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	Portrait of a Renegade - The Pale Horse

Inside a rather comfy cave which curved up into a mountain, a man woke up from his slumber thanks to the piercing lights of the sun. Laying on a sleeping bag with a pillow behind his head and a lamp next to him, he slowly rose and stretched his arms, yawning loudly and then wiping his eyes. He stood up and began to walk around the cave itself, which had been turned into something of a temporary home. The man took out a can of beans from a bag placed along the side and grabbed a knife and spoon from another. He sat down on a rock placed in front of what was a fire they had started the night before and opened the can with the knife, flicking the tin cover to the side and dropping the knife. As he ate his beans, he looked out an opening in the cave which gave him a view of the road down below and a lake which shimmered under the sun. The wind blew gently, only strong enough to slightly push the leaves of the trees in one direction. The man sat there for some time, quietly eating.

When he finished his meal, he placed the can and spoon down and walked back to his sleeping bag. Along the side sat a journal with a leather cover and a pen resting on the top. He picked both up and flipped to the closest blank page in it, stopping for a moment to think about what to write, before taking his pen and jotting down what came to mind.

_I find that recounting the events of any given day at least a day or two after they have happened to be the best method of obtaining an accurate picture. It’s not too close as to be bound up in the passions of the moment, but not too far away so that key details are forgotten. It sits in a happy medium, which will be necessary to recount the events of yesterday._

He paused again, stroking his pencil-thin mustache and thinking of what next to say. The man knew something needed to be addressed immediately.

_If you are reading this, it is likely that I am dead, whether it’s from the hands of a lawman or the eventual end that awaits us all. Some of the people looking for me may believe that within these pages you will find some moment of guilt, of intense sadness and pain over my actions._

_You will not find that here._

_I may have the occasional doubt about certain events in my life- being a father will do that - but in regards to-_

Suddenly, he could hear in the distance the rumbling of a motor. That couldn’t be good news; nobody was supposed to be going down these roads, especially now. He quickly placed the journal and pen aside and sprinted to one of his bags. Fumbling his hand around in it, he pulled out a large persuader*, known as the Smith & Wesson Model 29, and quickly checked to see if it was loaded. The man dashed to the opening and squatted down, peaking over the rocks to see what was happening. 

Off in the distance, the man could see a person riding along on a rather old-looking motorrad**. The rider was young, maybe eighteen or nineteen, and brown strands of hair could be seen poking out from under a hunting cap. A long brown trench coat covered their body, and the force of the wind occasionally revealed a revolver holstered on their hip. The man started to panic; that wasn’t a soldier, that was a civilian. And they were headed right towards his encampment.

Before he could respond, a bright light blinded the man, followed by a powerful boom that shook the cave he was in. As he retreated into cover, he could hear what sounded like the skidding of a vehicle and a body falling to the ground. As the light faded and he could see again, he panicked, running down the slope of the cave and out to the road. 

“God damnit! God damnit!” He cursed wildly. As the man ran closer, he could see that the motorrad had fallen to the ground, and the rider had taken a tumble. As he ran closer to inspect the body, he silently cursed at himself for not thinking ahead; the bomb he had set up the night before was a concussion bomb, a non-lethal weapon designed to blind and disorient the target. Aside from a bruise or two from the tumble, the rider was most likely fine; they were still breathing, and it looked like their head didn’t receive any serious damage. He holstered his revolver and took a moment to breathe.

Thanks to all that, he now had a new dilemma. The rider couldn’t just be left to their devices, as they could easily go and report the case to local authorities. _Maybe I could take the motorrad and run?_ He thought. As the man started to walk over to the vehicle, a voice rang out, young but weirdly metallic.

“Hey, are you alright?” The voice asked their rider. The man stopped in his tracks. _It talks, brilliant,_ he thought. _Can’t do that either; it could easily rat me out to the cops no matter where I park it._ “My wheels feel a little loose, but otherwise I think I’m okay. How about you?” The voice asked again. The man struggled for a moment to come up with something, his mind still reeling from the blast. But a thought popped in his head which comforted him; what if he just took them hostage? _I could keep them as collateral, make it so that if the authorities did find me, I could threaten violence towards them and scare those rats off. Not that I would hurt them, of course_ , he pondered. _I could even ransom them for money; make a quick buck and have some cash stored away for if things get rough. Delightfully devilish, Boris._

The man named Boris turned to face the rider, whose body was lying on the ground a few feet away from the motorrad. They had been knocked-out, and as the man slowly lifted them off the ground, their hat fell off their head. The man grabbed it and hung it from one of his pockets by the straps, and he could now see that the rider’s hair was cut short. Boris hoisted the rider over his shoulder and began to walk towards the cave.

“Hey, who are you?” The voice asked the man, audibly worried. He stopped in his tracks and turned around to face the motorrad. “Why do you have my rider over your shoulder? I hope it’s to help; I don’t like seeing them hurt.” Boris sighed.

“No harm will come to them. But I’m afraid that I’m not here to help.” He said politely. “In fact, they, and I suppose you as well, are being kidnapped.”

“Kidnapped?! That’s not very nice! Stop that!” The motorrad shouted. Boris stood there, a bit confused and unsure as to what to say.

“Eh? I mean... no. I’m not going to stop.” He responded awkwardly, walking towards the cave.

“Well at least put me back up! I hate being on my side!”

“I’ll be right back for you, no worries.” Boris insisted, groaning after he finished speaking. He walked along the road and back up the cave until he arrived back at his headquarters. He placed the rider down and began to search their pockets for weapons. The revolver, a large .44 persuader, was removed, along with the holster it rested in. The coat was thrown to the side, revealing an army green coat underneath. On the rider’s back was a Colt Woodsman pistol, holstered with the grip facing up in order to make drawing it much faster. He quickly removed that as well, and began searching the pockets for any identifying items; all he could find were knives, knives and more knives. Every pocket seemed to have one, no matter how big or small. After quietly hoping that that was all of them, the man grabbed all the weapons and placed them to the side, followed by him again searching through one of the bags haphazardly placed around the cave. Pulling out some rope from within the bag, Boris returned to the rider and tied their arms behind their back, then restraining their legs shortly after. Boris took a short moment to catch his breath before exiting the cave.

“If you hurt them, you’re gonna regret it!” The motorrad shouted. Boris chuckled.

“Like I said before, I’m not interested in hurting you or your rider.” He said, slowly bringing the vehicle back on their wheels and starting to roll it along. Boris was thankful that the cave he had set up in didn’t have a particularly sharp incline to climb up; it would have made the job a nightmare. “My interest is keeping both of you alive and well, believe me.”

“Yeah, right. Why should I trust you?”

“Because I wouldn’t have the protection that hostages give their captors.” He responded. “Tell me, motorrad, what’s your rider’s name?”

“Like I would tell you that!” Boris sighed.

“Okay, well, what’s your name?”

“Hermes- I mean-”

“Hermes? What a name! Nice to meet you. Call me Boris.” He said gleefully. Hermes groaned. The kidnapper slowly but surely pushed the motorrad up the incline and into the cave itself. Hermes gasped as he saw his rider, lying motionless and restrained by rope.

“Kino!” He shouted. The man put out the kickstand with a swift kick and propped the motorrad up near the wall.

“Their name’s Kino?” He asked; Hermes again groaned realizing that he messed up. “A rather Prussian name, don’t you agree?”

“I don’t know what that means, mister.” Hermes responded, trying to control himself.

“That’s okay; they don’t either.” He joked, going to where his sleeping bag was. Hermes was disgusted by how messy the man’s residence was; bags of stuff were scattered about the area, along with a few bean cans and covers that were placed off in the far corner of the cave. Boris grabbed his journal and pen and then walked over to sit down on his rock that he had set up. As he was about to place his pen onto the page, the motorrad spoke up.

“So what happens now?” He asked. Boris sighed and put the pen down.

“Well, we wait. I can’t exactly move now that I have you two as my prisoners, and if the authorities hear anything about this, then they’ll be here soon, I figure.”

“Authorities? You do this for a living, mister?”

“Heh, not quite. My job’s a bit different.” He said. “This is just a quick way to get by. Nothing crazy.”

“You don’t think kidnapping someone is crazy?!”

“Good point. Well, I guess if you do it right it isn’t. Or, something like that.” Boris responded, his voice sounding much less confident. He dropped the pen and journal to the ground and walked around the cave, looking for something. After searching for a short period of time, the man found what he was looking for; a portable cassette player that he had bought ages ago. It had these beat-up earphones that looked ancient, and it only had one cassette in it. Not that he needed any other, he would say. Boris put the buds in his ear and pressed play on the machine, closing his eyes as the hymn’s soft vibrations filled his ears. At least, that was before Hermes interrupted him again.

“What are you doing now?” He asked. Boris kept playing the music, but took one earbud out and let it fall to the side.

“I’m just going to sit back and listen to some music.” Boris explained. He cracked a gentle smile, opening his eyes and looking out at the lake. “You know, when I listen to some songs, I think I can hear him.”

“Hear who?” Hermes asked.

“God.”

“Oh great, and he’s a lunatic as well!” The motorrad despaired. Boris laughed.

“Not like that, dear Hermes!” He insisted. “Not literally talking to me. I mean… it’s more like a general feeling, you know. There’s a saying I remember hearing a while back; “ _Where there is singing, you can always settle down – because evil men don’t have_ _songs"_ ***, or something like that. Music can be cleansing, in a way; it can clear your head and help you think rationally. I like to think that maybe that’s him, helping out where he can. Telling me that if I just stick to my principles and keep doing the right thing, everything will be alright. That with a clear head and an iron will, things will get better. It’s the only thing that’s ever made sense to me, and I think there’s a good reason why.” Boris stopped talking for a moment and listened to the singing. It’s lyrics spoke of a day when all men would live in peace and harmony after the end, and that even death itself would be conquered. It was a comforting thought for a man in his line of work.

“Why are you telling me all this, mister?” Hermes asked. Boris shrugged.

“I dunno. Guess I’m talking to myself, really. Sorry for bugging you.” He muttered. Boris moved his eyes away from the outside and looked down at his other prisoner, the rider named Kino. They were still knocked out, lying on the ground and taking small breaths. The way their hair was cut and the clothes they wore reminded Boris of his son, Viktor, who always had this quiet charm to him in the way he dressed himself and interacted with others. The rider slowly began to move a little, first their legs and then followed by their eyes slowly opening. Boris watched as Kino tried to move their arms before going deathly pale. 

“Kino, you’re awake!” Hermes shouted, relieved that his rider was safe and sound; or at least as much as they could be given the circumstances. “Are you feeling alright?” He asked; they did not respond, instead pushing themselves up with their bound hands and sitting up straight. Boris smiled, stopping the cassette and putting it into his pocket.

“Morning, sleepyhead.” He joked; the rider looked up at the man before them. “How are you feeling? No loud ringing, headaches, memory loss? Concussion bombs can do that.” Again, they didn’t respond, instead staring off into the distance. “They do talk, right?” 

“Of course they do, what kind of question is that?!” Hermes angrily responded. “Wait until Kino lays into you! You’re gonna regret ever crossing us, isn’t that right Kino?!” The motorrad shouted confidently. A few moments passed by, and again, they didn’t say a word. Boris was amused by the whole situation; the attempts by Hermes to goad his rider into talking was making it entertaining.

“Tell me, Kino, what brings you out here? You a mercenary, bounty hunter, bandit?” Boris asked. “A lot of weapons on your person. Not the kind of stuff civilians carry, either.” As expected, not a word was spoken by the rider. 

“Well, that’s alright; if you don’t feel comfortable talking, I’m not interested in forcing you. As I told your motorrad friend here, you both are my hostages. As long as you cooperate and don’t fight back, no harm will come to either of you. I fully expect to see you two out of my custody by the end of the day, if that makes you feel any better.” Boris explained politely. Kino looked off to the side, the expression on their face unchanged. “Why don’t you tell your friend that they’ll be okay, Hermes?”

“Oh, and lie to them?! What if you did want to kill them?!”

“You have a vivid imagination.” Boris responded. “Tatiana is like that, in her own way of course.”

“Who?”

“Right, you don’t know, apologies. She’s my daughter.”

“They let kidnappers have children in your country?” Hermes asked snarkily.

“As long as you have them before you start kidnapping, mister Hermes.” He joked. “I remember when Tatiana was little, she gave me this drawing she made that she said was supposed to be me. It was a moose with a cross hanging out before it on a piece of string tied to its horns.” He started laughing thinking about it. “I still don’t know what it means, but I like it regardless! Children have this ability to dream and imagine that adults often lose, don’t you agree?” Boris got up from his seat and started to pace around the cave. He realized that his choice for a hideout was somewhat poor, as it only had one exit and he could get trapped in there as a result. He would need to come up with either a new hiding spot or a way to make that problem redundant. _Maybe the fact that I’m cornered in will scare them,_ he thought. _I could make them think I’m desperate, willing to use any means necessary. Risky, but it would save me a lot of trouble._

“What are you doing now?” Hermes asked.

“Do you need to know every little thing I do?” Boris asked, audibly frustrated.

“Yes. What, did you not expect your prisoners to have questions?”

“This wasn’t exactly a part of the plan. Didn’t exactly have the time to think it all through.”

“Then why did you do it? It seems awfully short-sighted.”

“Because I needed the money. My job put me into a bit of a tough spot- which is fine, because I love it like nothing else!” He said defensively.

“You’ve been rather vague as to what your “job” is.” A voice asked him. Boris turned around to see the rider looking right at them, their face no longer pale and their expression stoic. Kino’s voice was ever-so-slightly high-pitched, and their gaze was now somewhat intimidating; Boris thought of how many knives he found on their person. He took a breath and grinned.

“So you do talk. I knew something was up.” He noted. “Fine, I can tell you what my job is; you’d find out one way or another, and I’m not ashamed of it. Far from it, I think that-”

“Get on with it!” Hermes blurted out.

“Alright, I will, please settle down.” Boris said. He stayed silent for a few moments, letting the tension build just a little. “Let me tell you both a little story about me.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As he sat in the car, Boris was sweating harder than he ever had in his life. It was a cool day at the start of the spring season, but he looked like he had run a few miles wearing a wool sweater. He took the revolver out of his pocket and quickly checked to see if it was loaded, just like he did the last fifty other times that day. And just like before, all six rounds were in the chamber. He snapped the cylinder back in place and shoved it in his pocket. A knock was heard at the window; he quickly jumped, before realizing that it was one of his comrades. He opened the door and got out, closing it behind him.

“Lavr says we're all clear. They won’t suspect a thing.” His comrade informed him. 

“Good work, Alexander. How do I look?” Boris asked; he was wearing a green military uniform and a cap to top it all off.

“Look just like you did on the front. A bit older, maybe-”

“Stuff it.” Boris responded; they both laughed a little. “Right, let’s get going then.” The two men walked forward through the back exit of the building, saluting to some of the soldiers as they walked through the winding halls of the building. Quickly jogging up the stairs and avoiding eye contact with some of the imperial guardsmen, they arrived to see a crowd kneeling before a man dressed in long flowing robes and a crown on his head. The rotten king; the two both knew him well, and as much as it pained them to admit it, he was not today’s target. Another man had that honor. As the ceremony continued to go on and on, the two quickly walked through the crowd and towards their target.

In another room within the building was a group of men drinking and listening to one man in particular speak. He was dressed in a suit and tie, and spoke with an elegance the others found most endearing; Boris and Alexander found it insufferable. He spoke like a preacher reading scripture, despite not being from the church or, as Boris would argue, even really believe in it’s teachings. He was Yusupov, head of the king’s personal council and one of the country’s richest men. Boris and Alexander waited patiently for him to finish speaking; from what they could gather, it sounded like he was presenting an argument he would use against an opponent in the council.

“Why hast Thou come now to hinder us?” He said, his voice loud and overly dramatic. “For Thou hast come to hinder us, and Thou knowest that! We are working not with Thee but with him, that being which you damn as the Prince of Darkness! We took from him what Thou didst reject with scorn, that last gift he offered Thee, showing Thee all the kingdoms of the earth. We took from him Rome and the sword of Caesar, and proclaimed ourselves sole rulers of the earth! We shall triumph and shall be Caesars, and then we shall plan the universal happiness of man.”**** As his voice mellowed at the final sentence, his associates cheered enthusiastically. They sung his praises to his face, all the while he politely thanked them and walked away. He smiled as he saw Boris and Alexander.

“Ah, Captain Wrangel!” He said, shaking Alexander’s hand. 

“It’s an honor, sir.” Alexander said.

“Please, you’re too kind. And you, Captain Denikin!” Yusupov said. Boris grabbed his hand and shook it; he was grateful that the old codger had bought their disguises.

“A pleasure to meet you. We always need more allies in the council.”

“Most certainly. Let’s take this somewhere private, yes?”

“Of course.” Boris responded. The three exited the room and re-entered the hallway they were in. As they walked by the crowd once more, Alexander gave him a wink, letting him know it was time. Boris issued a silent prayer, before pulling the revolver out of his pocket and aiming it at the back of Yusupov’s head. He pulled the trigger, causing the persuader's scream to echo through the hallway and send a round flying into the unsuspecting minister’s head. The bullet smashed into the back and came out the front, and the sound of his body falling was muted by the panicked shouting of the crowd. 

The two quickly ran in the opposite direction, while imperial guards dashed after them and fired wildly at the target, without any sort of trigger discipline despite the bystanders. They rushed down the stairs and into the backroom they were at before, where one of the soldiers helped Boris slide a bookcase to the door. Boris caught his breath and let a big grin develop on his face.

[ _As long as I can remember, I always wanted to be a terrorist._ ](https://youtu.be/t5rRC2y3Guk)

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Boris finished telling his story, he stopped pacing around the caved and looked to see the reactions. Kino looked bewildered, squinting their eyes and holding their mouth slightly agape; if Hermes had a face he would probably look the same. The rider looked back at the motorrad for a moment, before turning around to face Boris once more. 

“Could you explain that last part? I’m a bit confused.” Hermes requested.

“To me, being a terrorist was better than being king. Even before I first wandered into a factory to work my first shift at the assembly line, I knew that that's where I belonged.” He explained.

“I think what Hermes is trying to say is that… well, where we come from, that word “terrorist” has a bit of a different definition.” Kino said.

“Is it different? Here, we define it as an individual or group that commits acts of violence for political, social or religious reasons in order to create fear amongst parts of the civilian population. And what about you?” Boris asked. Again, Kino looked back to Hermes.

“That’s the dictionary definition, isn’t it Kino?” Hermes asked nervously.

“Yup, sounds like it.” They responded, once again turning around to face Boris. “Boris, I apologize, but I still don’t really understand what you’re saying. You identify with that label?”

“Growing up, everyone in my neighborhood was told about the greats. Maria Spiridonova, Sergey Nechayev, Mykolaj Kybalchych, Vera Zasulich; people who went out into the world and made themselves known through their actions, not just their words. To be a terrorist is to be the vanguard of the people’s revolutionary movement, to crash down with fury upon the cruel and to uplift the common peasant!” He explained; the names and rhetoric went over both of their heads.

“So, your country admires these… terrorists, then?” Kino asked. Boris nodded.

“Wasn’t always like that. We used to be pretty normal, given the circumstances. Our kings weren’t amazing, but they were fine; tolerable, if you will. But they progressively started to get worse over the years; snobbier, less pious, openly hostile towards the common folk, intolerant to even the slightest criticism. The most recent one has been a real prick; he forged a bond with Yusupov in order to overthrow the last one and make himself the sole ruler. It became a civil war that engulfed the country for quite some time, until he emerged as the last one standing.”

“But what does that have to do with the terrorists?” Hermes questioned.

“Everything, really. As soon as the kings started to get worse, people began to take actions into their own hands. It’s all we could do; either that, or take every punch they threw at us.” He paused for a moment. “As a father, I can’t bear the thought of my kids having to live like I did. They don’t know what the world’s really like; they’ll learn eventually, but I at least want the transition to be a little gentler then it will be otherwise. I remember hearing the plan being laid out by my comrades and feeling hope for the first time in ages; kill the king’s ministers, and that would spark a massive revolt amongst the farmers and peasants.”

“So was killing Yusupov your first act, or had you been involved with similar activity before?” Kino asked.

“I had killed people during the war. Served as a soldier in the king’s army.”

“Which king?”

“I honestly don’t remember. Doesn’t matter, really. It gave me an early taste of what life would be like as a terrorist. You’re signing up to be a martyr, really.”

“If I had hands, I would punch this guy right in his gut.” Hermes remarked.

“Hermes!” Kino scolded, keeping their voice to a whisper. “But aren’t you worried about dying?”

“Why should I? If I died, I would have died in the service of heaven and the people. As strange as it may sound to you two, we terrorists have killed out of love.”

“Love?”

“Yes. Love for our families, our faith and our people. While the gutless chatterboxes of regular political parties talked and talked about their belief in serving the people, we knights of terror actually acted upon it. In that sense, terror is not even all that ideological; it is an element of nature, as if the heavens are correcting the current state of things and putting everything back in place.”

“Oh he's definitely a sociopath, for sure.” Hermes muttered.

“Not now, Hermes!” Kino again quietly scolded. “But Boris, I’m not sure if I understand your logic. You aren’t really dying for anyone, really.”

“Pardon?”

“Anyone can say that they are dying or killing for one thing or another, sure, but it’s really just that; you’re just saying something. You’re still dying your own death, while trying to spin murder as apart of some higher goal.” Boris paused for a moment to think, again pacing around the cave.

“But Kino, I found numerous weapons on your person. How exactly can someone who carries that many knives lecture about the morality of violence?”

“As a traveler, I have to be ready to hunt for food and even defend myself if the time comes. A bandit could try to ransom me and my friend here, for example.” They shot back.

“So you’re not so different from us terrorists, then. We go by a code of honor, limiting violence to those servants of the king and state, and do what we can to keep the people safe from it all. If either of you had read Nechayev’s _Catechism of a Revolutionary_ , you would know that “the revolutionary is a doomed man. He has no private interests, no affairs, sentiments, ties, property nor even a name of his own. His entire being is devoured by one purpose, one thought, one passion - the revolution. Heart and soul, not merely by word but by deed, he has severed every link with the social order and with the entire civilized world; with the laws, good manners, conventions, and morality of that world. He is its merciless enemy and continues to inhabit it with only one purpose - to destroy it”.” He quoted.

“Jokes on you, I’m borderline illiterate!” Hermes responded. Kino and Boris awkwardly looked at the motorrad for a moment before facing each other again.

“Boris, I’m afraid I don’t really see your point. What I mean when I say that I act in self-defense is that I’m not assigning any greater value or ideology to it; it’s just that. The people I’ve had to kill are often not evil or bad; they just happened to be attacking me. It’s really not as clear cut as you make it.” Kino argued politely.

“I suppose you’re right in us being different,” he reluctantly conceded, “but I still don’t understand how that makes you better than me in regards to the morality of violence.”

“I never said I was better.” They responded.

“Huh?”

“Kino, now is not the time to do the whole “non-interference” thing.” Hermes whispered. 

“Like I said before, Boris, I’m a traveler. I’m not interested in interfering in the inner-politics or issues of every country I visit. I’ll help somebody if they’re in trouble, sure, but otherwise it’s really not my place to say who’s right and who’s wrong. I’ll confess to not really understanding or agreeing with your view of things, but I’m not trying to say that I’m better.” They explained. “I’d be a bit of a hypocrite if I said that every action I’ve made was perfectly calculated and moral.” The cave went silent for a few moments; Kino stared off towards the lake, Hermes wondered what his rider was up to, and Boris turned around for a moment to face the lake as well.

“You and Viktor would’ve gotten along pretty well, I think.”

“Who’s Viktor?”

“My son. He’s a lot like you; very stoic and reflective. Also not much of a talker; when we were moving him up to the next level of schooling, I was worried he wouldn't make friends because of how introverted he was. The very first day, four separate women come to my door asking permission to take him on a date!” He chuckled as he spoke about it. “Viktor was very embarrassed about the whole thing, saying how he hadn’t spoken a word the whole day. I told him that if you were that good without saying anything, then this year would be a breeze!”

“What did you mean by “would’ve”?” Kino asked.

“Pardon?”

“You said that Viktor and I would’ve gotten along. Did something happen?” Boris went silent, his smile fading quickly. He was thankful that Viktor and Tatiana were okay, but the whole situation could not be less ideal. Alexander and he were far too naïve, clearly. He turned around and sat down upon the rock he rested upon before. 

“Guess I have another story in me.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“It’s happening.” Alexander muttered as he drove the car. “Oh my god, it’s actually happening! That bastard screamed like a rabbit!”

“Boris, you legend!” Lavr shouted, patting his comrade on the shoulder.

“Think of it, comrades! The peasants will now be more emboldened than ever! The end of Yusupov will show that the monarchy is on its last legs!” Boris declared. The car quickly drove down the road towards the exit of the country. Outside of the walls, the farmers toiled and languished under miserable conditions. Their dignity, in the minds of the terrorists, would only be preserved through violent action. Behind them, a car mounted up with armor appeared into view. On the top was a turret with a Maxim belt-fed persuader mounted inside.

“God dammit! They’ve got the cavalry!” Boris shouted, ducking behind the seats. Lavr did the same, and Alexander quickly swerved into one of the roads along the side. Awaiting them in the alleyway were numerous imperial guardsmen, who began to riddle the car with bullets. A stray bullet hit Alexander in the left arm, but with his right hand he turned the car around and drove right back down the road, while the Maxim persuader pounded the car with bullets. The driver grit his teeth through the pain, steering past parked cars and picking up speed. 

At the front gate, imperial guardsmen began to line up with rifles and started to fire upon the car. Alexander slammed his foot on the pedal and watched as the guards scrambled to the side before he was even close. The car jumped a little as it flew through the gate, slamming onto the ground and wobbling a little. The three men began to hysterically laugh as they could see the armored car was barely able to keep them in range.

“Now, Alexander, to the peasants!” Boris shouted. They drove on quickly as the road turned to dirt, eventually arriving at one of the peasant communes set up at the edge of the woods. Boris climbed out the window and onto the rooftop of the car and began to preach his heart out.

“Gather around, all you toilers and hard-working men and women! The revolution has come!” He belched. The people of the commune began to gather in the middle of the town and around the car, unsure as to why someone was shouting. Lavr began to bandage Alexander’s arm. Boris could see Tatiana and Viktor at the very edge of the crowd, confused as to what was happening. He remembered how bewildered the peasants were when they first moved to the commune; they openly asked out loud why anyone would want to live in this dump.

“What’s this all about, then?” An elderly man asked.

“At long last, the tyrant is dead! Yusupov, the industrial devil who built machines fueled by blood and tears, has been put down with holy fury by my hands! The king and his court is nothing more than a paper tiger, propped up by squadrons of spineless rats with persuaders! Now, today is the beginning of the people’s revolution, and the return of the law of heaven to these lands! Rejoice, and take arms against the old world!” He shouted. The crowd of peasants and farmers were dead silent; they all stared up at Boris with perplexed expressions. Boris kept a smile on his face, but internally he was just as confused as them. _Why are they just staring at me?_ , he thought. 

“Excuse me, but what do you mean by revolution?” The elderly man questioned.

“Well, the overthrow of the monarchy, what else?!”

“Then what?” An older woman asked.

“Sorry?”

“Well, what will the government do for us after that?”

“Oh. Well, you- right, heh. Okay, well, uh…” He looked to see Lavr and Alexander just as unsure of what to say. Alexander especially looked pale, his bleeding even worse than before. “The revolution will guarantee the people’s freedom.”

“What does that even mean?” Someone in the crowd shouted.

“Yeah, we want answers!” Another declared.

“Settle down, please, I can explain. The work you do for this country is its foundations, yes? Without food, everyone starves. So we need a government which cares for the peasantry and represents their interests!”

“How would it do that?” The older woman asked.

“I-well, I’m not the expert on policy. You could talk to-”

“Then why are we listening to you?!” Someone shouted. Boris looked down at his feet, defeated and exhausted. One person left the crowd and walked back to their work; then another left shortly after. Soon the entire group dispersed, the only ones left being Viktor and Tatiana. He jumped off the car and walked over them, giving a slight smile.

“I liked your speech, dad.” Viktor said, his voice quiet and slightly high-pitched. 

“Same here.” Tatiana added, her voice similarly restrained.

“Thanks. That means a lot.” He said. The three stood silently for a little bit, pondering the situation. Boris had banked everything on the revolution, and now that it hadn’t come, he didn’t know what to do. In the distance, he could see the armored car approaching, it’s turret turning around and looking for him. Boris could also hear what sounded like the stuttering of a car engine. He knelt down and put his hands on Viktor and Tatiana’s shoulders.

“You too will need to be brave. I’m going to be gone for some time, and I don’t know when I’ll be back. In the meantime, pack your belongings and head to Uncle Sergei’s house and stay there.”

“What’s happening, dad?” Tatiana asked.

“The cops are coming for me. They want to snuff out the people’s revolution, but you will have to keep it alive, yes?” Tatiana nodded in agreement. Viktor’s eyes were swelling with tears; not since their mother passed had he seen him cry.

“Please don’t go…” The boy muttered. He buried his face in his father’s chest. Boris embraced him in his arms for one last time.

“I’ll always be with you, Viktor.” He whispered. They held each other for a few moments, silently praying that the other would be okay. Viktor eventually let go and wiped his eyes.

“Okay, dad. I’ll do as you say.” He muttered. He and Tatiana began to run towards their house.

“You two be better than I ever was!” Boris shouted to his children. He walked back to the car and saw Lavr desperately trying to keep Alexander conscious. “How’s he doing?”

“Not well. I don’t have the supplies necessary to keep him alive. No morphine or real bandages. I also tried to start the car, but it’s basically dead.”

“That’s bad. The armored car is heading this way.”

“Kill me, then.” Alexander muttered. 

“No way in hell. I’m not abandoning a comrade.” Boris responded.

“I’ll weigh you down. The car will get to you in no time. Me gone will give you two a chance.”

“I’m not killing you! That’s final!”

“The revolutionary is a doomed man, remember? We terrorists knew what we were signing up for.” He argued. “If you won’t do it for that, then do it for my sake.” Boris reluctantly pulled out the Smith & Wesson persuader and pointed it at Alexander. The man Boris called his comrade smiled ever so slightly.

_His last words were “Godspeed, Lavr. Take care, Boris”._

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The cave was dead silent. Boris struggled to keep himself composed; thinking about his kids made him anxious, and Alexander’s gentle smile as he passed made him incredibly upset. Kino listened intently, while Hermes was trying to stay awake. 

“Lavr and I ran into the woods, dodging machine persuader fire. He went one way, I went another. I ran-sacked an empty house along the road, set up shop here, rigged the road with concussion bombs, and here we are.” He said. 

“Were the peasants ever exposed to your revolution’s arguments before?” Kino asked. Boris shook his head.

“We thought it was too dangerous. The king’s spies were everywhere, and we didn’t want to jeopardize our operations.”

“Had you considered finding other people to overthrow the king?”

“Like who?” Boris asked.

“Well, you said you worked in a factory. Maybe the workers wou-” 

“Absolutely not!” He scowled, spitting on the ground. “They were as much a product of Yusupov’s industrialization as the king’s council.”

“So terrorism didn’t work, then.” They commented.

“No. Terrorism did work, but the revolution didn’t. They lacked the agency necessary to act on the opportunity they were given.”

“But you didn’t expose them to your ideas beforehand. How were they supposed to know if you didn’t talk to them?” Kino questioned. Boris was silent; he stepped towards the opening to the outside and gazed at the road. 

“There will be a day when a new people’s government will come to my fatherland. That state would be better and more holy than the kingdom ever was. But the bloodshed will be immense, and how many people will have to suffer for that to happen? How many bombs will have to be sent flying into crowds of people in order to see every family get bread? How many heads must be chopped off their bodies so that people can speak freely? How many of my comrades must rot in prison cells until God’s words are taken seriously? I don’t know; I don’t think we will know until it happens. All I can do now is run, an-” As he turned around, he saw standing before him the traveler, unbound and carrying a long, thin yet sharp knife. 

“God damnit. I thought I got every knife.” Boris grumbled.

“I always keep one in my boot.” Kino responded. “I’m grateful for you telling me and Hermes about all this, and I hope you get to see Viktor and Tatiana again. But I’m not interested in being your prisoner.” Boris sighed.

“This whole plan was stupid from the start. Fine, I suppose you’re right. You can go.” He said. “And take this with you.” He handed over Kino’s hunting hat; they grabbed it and placed it on their head.

“Thank you.” Kino said politely. They moved over to the area where their coat and weapons had been placed, and started to holster them.

“Say, Kino, you think traveling is a good life for someone like me?” The man asked.

“Well, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt trying. Plus, considering your circumstances, you aren’t exactly going to be staying at one place for long anyways.”

“Interesting. Any advice if I do, then?”

“That’s easy. It’s the same two rules as any other job in life. The first is to not die.” Boris laughed.

“That’s a good rule. Haven’t done too shabby on that front. What’s the second?”

“The second is to not kill anybody.”

“Tha-oh. Oh.” Boris went silent as the traveler holstered their persuaders in their respective places. “I suppose we’ve both failed in that regard. Am I correct?”

“Yup.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Along the side of a riverbank, the traveler had set up a tent and was sitting along its edge with a fishing rod, waiting for something to bite. Next to them was the motorrad, propped up on a tree. The river flowed gently, and when the breeze picked up and the trees blocked the sun, one could see quite a few fish swimming along; none had taken the bait yet.

“Hey, Kino?”

“Yes, Hermes?”

“I still don’t understand why you were so patient with that Boris guy. And why were you so pale at first?” He asked. Kino pulled in the line and cast it out farther into the river.

“When I first woke up and realized that I had been restrained, I thought it was over. I really don’t want my journey to end anytime soon, especially like that.” They were quiet for a few moments, watching the bait dangle in the water. “But I realized at a certain point that I would be fine, because I learned something about him. See, Boris is… this is going to sound a lot meaner than I intend it to, but he’s not very smart.”

“Ha! Ain't’ that the truth!” Kino sighed at the motorrad’s gloating.

“No, I mean… he talks too much to make a good bandit. The best ones don’t go on and on about their family or god. That’s way too much information to give to a prisoner. And they aren’t polite to their captives either; they want them to believe that they’ll kill them at any moment, so they act cruelly. Remember the story he told about the drawing his daughter gave him?”

“The one with the moose? What about it?”

“Well, I donk think it was supposed to be a flattering depiction of him. The fact that he didn’t even understand it proves my point more. Still…”

“Still what?” Hermes asked. For a moment, the bait started to be pulled; Kino started to wind it in, but it went away. They threw the line out to a different location and sat back down.

“I think all of that also shows why he’s a good person.”

“Excuse me? Kino, this was the guy who just kidnapped us.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And then admitted to being a terrorist.”

“Right.”

“And killing his best friend.”

“He was bleeding out, but I’ll grant you that.”

“And you think he’s a good person?”

“Yes.”

“Kino, did a screw come loose back there? Because you’re sounding insane right now!”

“During this journey, we have met- and will continue to meet - people who are at once fundamentally good and yet responsible for horrific acts of cruelty and barbarism. It’s easy to say that people do bad things because they’re bad, and I understand why you are feeling so strongly about all that has just happened. But listening to him talk gave me a different perspective on the whole thing. I think that had things played out differently, he would have just been a normal guy.”

“So who’s to blame, then?”

“Well, him still. He pulled the trigger, so that’s his cross to bear. But like he said, the king didn’t give people a lot of opportunities. They could only turn to one thing, at a certain point. They may have even seen it as self-defense.” Kino explained.

“But not love, as he said?”

“It’s hard to say, but personally, I doubt it. I think he and his comrades told themselves that to feel better about the act of killing. It’s a lot easier to take a life when you have pre-built excuses to make it seem just.”

“So what makes it better when you kill in self-defense? I could argue that that’s a pre-built excuse.”

“Nothing, really. It’s just sad.” 

“Oh.” The two sat silently for a few moments, watching the river flow and spotting the occasional fish jumping into the air, then diving right back into the water. 

“We have to be better than all that, Hermes. We can’t make excuses for our actions, no matter how tempting or rational they may seem. It’s the only thing that separates us from a common killer.” Kino said, at once quiet and intense in their tone. 

“I suppose you have a point there. Not really convinced with the whole “Boris is a good guy” angle, though.” Hermes responded.

“That’s okay. As long as you get the fundamentals.” They said. “Now, if at least one of the hundreds of fish swimming here could take the bait, that would be splendid.” Just as they said that, the pole started to tug. Kino quickly wheeled in the string holding it and yanked the pole. Out came a decently sized bass, it’s mouth wrapped around the bait. Kino looked ecstatic. “Thank the heavens! I’m starving!”

“More than the peasants Boris talked about?” Hermes joked.

“Jeez, that’s a little cold.”

“I’m just riffing, no worries.”

“We should be writing instead of riffing.” Kino said. “That was a misstep.” Hermes paused for a moment before speaking.

“You think so?”

“All of it.”

“What do you mean?”

“That was pretty low-brow.”

“Oh, is that what it was?”

“Yeah.”

“Hey, remember when I did that joke before?”

“Yeah?”

“...”

“...”

“...”

“...”

“Pretty tight, right?”

“No, I just told you that I didn’t like it!”

**Author's Note:**

> *A gun, in this case a revolver.  
> **A two-wheeled vehicle. Only notable trait being that it cannot fly.  
> ***A line from Johann Gottfried Seume's "Die Gesänge". Mostly famous due to German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche's retort; "Then how is it that the Russians have songs?"  
> ****A slightly modified version of a line from Fyodor Dostoevsky's "The Grand Inquisitor".


End file.
